


just the way you are

by absolutelyferal



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bobata Kazuma has Vitiligo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and i'm willing to supply that content, i love johzenji so much, johzenji needs more content, the entire team is babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutelyferal/pseuds/absolutelyferal
Summary: kazuma bobata has a big secret — he has vitiligo, and because of past experiences, he's been covering the splotches with makeup.eventually though, he fucks up.





	just the way you are

Ever since Kazuma was little, he was always bullied for the small, discoloured spots on his skin. His mother would always console him, holding him close and telling him he’s beautiful and nothing would ever change that. He’d smile through tears and nod, only for the same thing to repeat, day after day, week after week, month after month. They never stopped getting bigger, no matter how much he wanted them to go away.

Eventually, he starts covering up what the other kids called his ‘defects’ — smearing some of his mother’s makeup all over his face. He wears long sleeved shirts and pants, no matter how hot it is. Anything to avoid being ridiculed again. Even now, in his second year of high school, he continues to do this routine. Every morning, he wakes up, looks at himself in the mirror, and tries not to cry.

He’s _hideous_. The discolouration looks like someone splashed paint all over his skin, yet no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get it to come off. It’s permanent, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Sometimes he wishes he were normal; no _vitiligo_, perfect skin, just like everyone else. He knows he isn’t the only one with this specific condition, there’s tonnes of other people, but he’s the only one in his high school with it, he was the only one in his junior high school, and the same goes for his elementary school. 

He picks up the tube of liquid foundation, beginning the long process of thoroughly covering the marks on his face. It takes about thirty minutes and he’s got to be extremely careful — if he doesn’t apply it right, it’ll come off in the middle of the day and then he’ll be bullied for it. 

_Again._

With a quiet sigh, he looks at his appearance in the mirror. He certainly does look better now that the ugly splotches on his face and neck are covered up, and he can hide the ones on his arms and legs with his school uniform, which he, very carefully, slides into. He glances at the mirror again and stifles a small snicker. He looks _stupid._

He’s gotta say, he never did like the colour of the uniform. The uniform itself is rather comfortable, just a bit harsh on the eyes. I mean, all the colours they could have chosen, and they pick _green?_ God, they need better fashion sense.

With his morning routine now complete, he gently hugs his mother before leaving for school. He’s gotten used to walking with his head down, just because of paranoia and the unwavering fear something’s going to happen and his secret will be revealed, and that’s not something he wants to happen anytime soon. 

The day goes by smoothly, all of his classes are relatively easy, and it’s only a matter of time before the real obstacle comes — volleyball practise. He’d started volleyball because it was (and still is) the one thing that makes him feel good about himself. When he’s on the court, playing alongside his teammates, he feels invincible, like there’s nothing out there that can stop him. Of course, this means he has to use more makeup to cover his defects, but he doesn’t mind it, not as long as he gets to continue to play.

There have been a few times where it almost gets out — mostly in the locker rooms whilst they’re all changing in front of each other, though he now prefers to change after everyone else. No one seems to mind it, and he’s sure they don’t care what he does, as long as he performs his best on the court. 

It’s at this moment he remembers the school Johzenji is going to play against in a few days. A lower ranked school, but still, a big game like this? He’ll sweat a lot, and now he’s stressing over how he’s going to not only hide the marks on his face, but the ones on his arms and legs. He’ll probably have to wear his thigh-high knee pads and knee high socks — they’ll cover the entirety of his legs, and whatever isn’t covered will be hidden by his jersey shorts. 

Maybe he’ll be able to put the foundation on his arms, too. It won’t hurt to try, anyways. He’s so distracted in his thoughts, he doesn’t realise his teammates are calling him and he’s apparently missed blocking a ball. 

“Oh,” He starts sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “Sorry about that, I was too deep in my thoughts.” There’s a small snicker from someone on the other side of the court – probably Futamata, though it could have been Higashiyama – and he has to stifle his own laughter as a loud “Ow!” rings through the court. He glances up to the clock on the gymnasium and frowns. There’s only a few minutes of practise left, and he’s been trying to resist the urge to wipe his face off, lest he expose the ugly spots on his face. 

The middle blocker sighs and turns away, not noticing the looks of concern from his fellow teammates. He has been acting pretty off, after all. He hums quietly and taps his fingers against his palm, waiting until their coach says they can leave. Soon enough, it happens, and he lingers behind on the court, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he waits for the others to get done in the changing room first. 

Some people might ask, _"Well, why not just tell them?"_ See, when a child like Kazuma has this disease, most might think it's contagious or disgusting or call them ugly, like what happened when he was younger. He's afraid of telling them for the same reason; he doesn't want to be bullied again, especially not by the only people he's considered friends for a long, _long_ time. He can't help wanting to cover the blotches of skin that are paler than the rest of him, he's been doing it for so long it almost seems _normal._

Everyone else files out of the locker room and he sighs, making his way inside the changing room. He locks the door behind him, just because someone might accidentally come in whilst he's changing and see his vitiligo. He hums quietly to himself as he changes, careful not to smudge or accidentally wipe away the foundation, considering he always leaves it at home and it's kinda weird for a boy to be carrying around makeup, anyway. 

He shifts in his clothing, making sure he's comfortable before he unlocks the door and steps out of the changing room, yawning quietly. Their game against that school probably won't be that hard, considering how much they've improved since they lost to Karasuno. He shakes the thought of volleyball away, sliding open the gymnasium doors and closing them behind him, making sure they're secure before he leaves, beginning the short trek home. 

He's there before he even realises it, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards into a frown. How long had he been walking again? He pats his pockets for his phone, sliding the device out before checking the time. It's a little after 6, which means his mum will already have dinner ready for him once he's inside. He unlocks the door and steps inside, not even stopping to say hello to his mother, making a beeline for the bathroom. 

The makeup is sliding off now — too much sweat finally makes it come off. He takes one of his mother's makeup removing towelettes and wipes his face with it, the tan foundation coming straight off and revealing splashes of discoloured, pale skin. He throws the towelettes in the trash and heads straight for his room, not feeling hungry anymore.

Instead, he lays down on his bed and wonders why he isn't normal.

* * *

It's finally the day of the game, and to say he isn't nervous would be a lie. The school - Mayonaka - is in a different prefecture, which means they have to leave earlier than usual to get there on time. He doesn't mind it, though, less sweating means less chances the makeup will come off and no people finding out about him. 

It takes almost an hour to get to Mayonaka, and by that time, everyone is jittery and excited, dancing in their seats to Panic! At The Disco — some American band Terushima always listens to. He's got to admit, though, their music is pretty cool. Maybe after the game he can get song recommendations from Terushima. 

Speaking of Terushima, Kazuma has found himself thinking about Johzenji's captain a _lot._ Sure, he's attractive; everyone thinks he is, but it never used to be something constant. Again, he's so wrapped up in his thoughts (mainly about Terushima) that he doesn't realise someone is calling him until Futamata taps his shoulder, concerned. 

"Hey, Boba, you okay? You've been a little out of it ever since we got that approval to face off against Mayonaka." Kazuma blinks, slowly nodding. 

"I'm fine," He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, nervously laughing. Futamata’s probably right, he almost always is. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to concern you guys or anything! I promise, it’s just before-game nervousness, y’know?” Luckily, Futamata seems to believe him, and with a shrug, sits back down.

A few minutes later, the bus pulls into Mayonaka High, and Kazuma hesitantly follows his teammates off the bus, his chest feeling oddly tight, like he can’t breathe. Once he’s outside, he tries to do what his mother tells him to — take a deep breath, hold it for seven seconds, release for seven. Thank fuck it helps; the rest of his team is already on their way inside of the gymnasium. 

Again, he has to resist the urge to wipe his face. He’s already sweaty, and his awkward, nervous sweating doesn’t help. As always, he’s the last one in the gym, but this time he doesn’t really mind it. With a small sigh, he joins his teammates in doing their warm-up stretches, before they get on their respective sides of the court.

There’s a short amount of time for them to wish each other a good game, and then it starts. Mayonaka immediately takes the lead, with a quick shot that rivals Karasuno’s own. Tsuchiya receives the ball, bumping it to Futamata, who tosses it to Terushima and the wing spiker spikes it over the net. The sequence repeats — Kazuma and Izaka blocking, Terushima, Numajiri, and Higashiyama spiking, Futumata setting, Tsuchiya receiving. 

There’s a small break between sets, and Kazuma spares a glance at the scoreboard. Mayonaka’s won the first set, with Johzenji coming close to tying the score. He grinds his teeth together and looks at Terushima, who’s rolling the metal ball in his tongue between his teeth, thinking. 

The game continues, Johzenji taking the lead this time with one of their synchronised attacks. They score a few points using their multiple tactics: switching positions at random, setting up attacks from the back line, saving the balls with their feet — you know, the usual. 

They eventually win the second set, and it’s off to the third they go.

Mayonaka comes on strong, though they’re tired — it’s clear to see, Johzenji’s tired, too — using their quick to rack up points, but Johzenji is strong and they don’t back down, not without a fight. Every member pushes themself to their limit and _beyond,_ coming out on top. 

They win the game, Mayonaka one point from making it a tie.

Kazuma sighs in relief, joining his friends as they celebrate. Without realising, he lifts the hem of his jersey and wipes his face off, the sweat finally getting to him. There’s a small gasp from Hana and he blinks, looking up, then back down at his jersey.

Oh, _shit._

The makeup he’d meticulously applied that morning is now staining his yellow jersey, and the entire volleyball team is looking at him. Looking at his _face._

He chokes down a sob and spins on his heel, running off despite his friends calling his name back in the gym. He runs and runs until his legs burn and his eyes fill up with tears, streaming down his cheeks and dropping on the floor as he leans against a classroom door, chest heaving.

He reaches into his pocket to grab his phone, shaky hands dialling his mum’s number, holding the device to his ear as he muffles soft cries with his other hand. She answers immediately and he only can say one thing before he bursts out in tears again; “Come pick me up, Mom.” 

She’s there in the next twenty minutes, and he races outside of the school, right past Terushima, not looking back. He opens the car door and slams it shut behind him, gesturing for her to drive. She looks hesitant to do so, but she does, without asking any questions, which he’s silently grateful for. 

When they get home, he storms out of the car and into his room, locking the door behind him. His phone buzzes with calls from his friends and he throws the device against the wall, hearing a sickening crack as it falls to the floor. 

He’d done so much to keep his vitiligo a secret and he fucked it up completely.

* * *

Yuuji has always known his friend is keeping something from him. He knows makeup when he sees it, he can tell when someone is avoiding him and the rest of his team, he knows the signs of discomfort and trying not to wipe sweat off your face.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t see this before. He cares about Bobata, it’s obvious he does — Boba’s the only person he actually thinks about more than the rest of the team. He’s a constant in Yuuji’s mind, never once fading despite never-ending streams of restless thoughts.

He hasn’t even heard of the condition Bobata has, not until he looked it up after the game. The first thing he felt was confusion; why would anyone choose to cover it up? Then it clicks. 

_He used to be bullied because of it._

Something white and hot burns in his chest — unbridled rage, a force not to be reckoned with if you’re dealing with Yuuji. He forces himself to calm down, taking deep breaths through his nose, because now he knows why Bobata was so panicked at the end of the match with Mayonaka, after he’d accidentally wiped his face, he knows why he hasn’t seen Bobata in almost a week, why he hasn’t been showing up for practise. 

It’s because he was (and still is, possibly) scared of being judged, which just makes Yuuji sad.

Before he makes any hasty decisions, however, he needs to help his friend. He grabs his jacket and slides socked feet into shoes, gently closing the door behind him. He brings his phone, too — knowing his mother, if she ever found out he snuck out, she’d spam his phone until he responds.

The trek to Bobata’s house isn’t long at all, only a few minutes from where he lives. He knocks on the door, frowning when, instead of his friend, it’s Bobata’s mother. She gestures him inside with a soft hum. “Terushima, dear.. he hasn’t left his room since the game. I’m afraid of what he’ll do if left alone for too long,” Her voice breaks and she covers her mouth with her palm, eyes filling with tears. “Please, just. Help him.”

“Don’t worry, Koui-san, I will.” He states firmly, toeing off his shoes and neatly placing them beside the door, before he heads upstairs, to Bobata’s room. He tries the doorknob; no luck. With a small sigh, he digs around for that paperclip he always keeps on him, untwisting it and gently easing it into the lock. 

It only takes a few seconds to pick the lock and he gently approaches, the corners of his mouth twitching downward as he sees his best friend like this — curled up into a ball on the bed, still in his jersey and shorts, soft sobs filling the empty room. Yuuji’s heart breaks.

Kazuma jumps when he feels the bed dip, looking up at Yuuji with puffy red eyes. “Wh-” The brunet croaks, voice scratchy from misuse and crying. “What’re you doing here?” Yuuji shakes his head, cupping Kazuma’s cheeks in his hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs gently, watching Kazuma’s eyes widen in disbelief and shock, but before he can say anything, Yuuji continues. “I don’t think any of us care about your skin disorder, simply because we love you the way you are. We love you for _you,_ Kazuma.” There’s a small pause, then he whispers: “_I love you for you._”

Kazuma sobs, nudging forward to bury his face in Yuuji’s neck, soft cries muffled by the other’s pale skin. Yuuji holds him, rubbing circles into his back with his thumbs, pressing his lips all over Kazuma’s face. He jumps, however, when his phone insistently vibrates in his pocket. With a confused frown, he slips the device out, accepting the call.

“Hana?” He asks, frown turning into a smile when Kazuma inches closer, seemingly eager to hear. He turns the phone on speaker, pulling the middle blocker into his side. “Boba’s here, too.” He murmurs, before she starts speaking.

_“Oh, good. I was actually calling you to see if you knew how he is. Anyways, now that you’re both here, we have something to tell you.”_ Yuuji can hear the sounds of people shuffling in the background. and to say he’s confused is an understatement.

“Uh, Hana? What’s going on?” He asks, but gets no reply, and instead of trying to get her to respond, he falls silent, turning to press a kiss to Kazuma’s temple. It takes a few seconds for Hana to finally come back to the phone, and he can _still_ hear the same people in the background, though he can’t hear what they’re saying. 

_“Okay, I’m back. Bobata, honey, you’re very handsome and we love having you on our team. Nothing will ever change that, not even your skin disease, because guess what? You’re our friend, and friends stick together until the end.”_ There’s another pause, and Yuuji almost drops his phone in surprise as he hears every member of the Johzenji volleyball team (including Anabara) collectively shout, _“We all love you, Boba!”_

He looks at Kazuma, the middle blocker’s eyes filling with tears and a happy smile on his face. “I love you guys, too,” Kazuma mumbles softly into the phone, wiping his eyes.

“Here,” Yuuji says, tapping the hang-up button. “Let’s get you fed and washed, okay? Then, if you want, I’ll take you to go see them.” Kazuma nods, shifting to get off the bed. “I’ll go make something for you to eat with your mum whilst you shower.” He kisses the corner of Kazuma’s mouth, then stands, helping the other boy up.

“Thank you, Teru,” Kazuma mumbles, shuffling to his dresser to get a new set of clothes, and they part ways in the hallway; Kazuma moving to the bathroom and Yuuji heading downstairs, presumably to help the middle blocker’s mother. 

After his shower, Kazuma doesn’t bother putting on the foundation again. They all know now, and they don’t seem _disgusted_ or anything. He’s actually really happy with how he looks right now, knowing that his friends are super supportive and could care less about his vitiligo. Still though, there’s a dull throb of nervous anxiety. What if they were just lying to make him feel better? What if they don’t want to be his friend anymore? What if they secretly will talk about him behind his back? 

So many ‘what if’s’ run through his head, chest beginning to feel tight as he drops to the floor, averting his gaze from the mirror down to his shoes, hands coming up to press against his ears. Something must have tipped Yuuji off — maybe it’s the shower, how it was turned off but Kazuma still isn’t out — because he’s opening the bathroom door and falling to his knees, wrapping his arms around the boy, kissing his forehead gently.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, Kazu. I love you so much, you’re okay.” He whispers soothingly, carding his fingers through Kazuma’s light brown hair. “You’re so handsome, love, just the way you are.” Kazuma looks up, face stained red, mouth quivering. Yuuji cups Kazuma’s cheeks, leaning closer, closer, until Kazuma can’t help but let out a quiet whimper as their lips touch. They kiss for what seems like a long time, pulling away with half-lidded eyes as Kazuma’s mother calls out for him and Yuuji.

Yuuji stands first, holding out his hand for Kazuma to take, helping him up. They glance at each other for a brief moment, faces tinted pink once they look away. Kazuma takes his opportunity to lace their fingers together, and Yuuji smiles at his new lover, leading him out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

Kazuma’s happy. He has supportive friends, his loving mother, and his boyfriend, Terushima Yuuji. He’s got _people who care_ about him, people who won’t make fun of him because he’s different. He knows, eventually, he’ll be able to stand with full confidence, without once feeling the need to cover his face with makeup, as long as he has the people he needs by his side.

He’s so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to tender, the lovely lass in one of the discord servers i'm in ♥️♥️
> 
> 3,000+ words of just,,, johzenji content bc i'm weak for bobateru and just johzenji in general skdjsjdjsjhd


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